


His Distractive Vices

by blythechild



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Drinking, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 23:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a reason why Sherlock doesn't drink too often.</p><p> </p><p>This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal entertainment. This story contains adult situations - including drinking and sexuality - and it should not be read by those under the age of 18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Distractive Vices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Draycevixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/gifts).



> For DV, who was in desperate need of some cheering up ;)

_What r u wearing?  
\- SH_

John blinked, read the message on his phone twice, then scrubbed his face and read it again. The clock by his bedside said 2:37 a.m.

“Sherlock?” John called out into the flat. There had better be a good reason for this texting nonsense. Like ‘the fate of the British Empire hangs in the balance’ sort of reason… John’s mobile beeped again.

_Blue cotton pants and old army t or plaid flannel set that H. gave u 4 Xmas?  
\- SH_

John’s eyebrows shot upwards. Not only was it unlike Sherlock to _guess_ about something so simple, but what John was or wasn’t wearing to bed didn’t seem to meet the importance threshold by which Sherlock measured all things worth discussing. And it was past two in the bloody morning.

John’s thumbs flicked over the keypad - two could play at this game.

_Does it matter?_

While waiting for a response, John wandered to Sherlock’s room: it was empty, the bed still made. A quick scan of the flat indicated nothing out of the ordinary. Their supper dishes were stacked to dry on the sideboard. Half-filled teacups were left in the sitting room where he and Sherlock had argued about how to write up their latest case a few hours before. A small amount of chaos on the desktop signaled that Sherlock had been trying to find a cigarette after John had gone to his room. That could be a problem - it was far too soon for Sherlock to be craving his next fix. John’s phone beeped in his hand.

_No matter. Nakd is preferable. Unless u have company. Jane? Martha?  
\- SH_

“What?!” John huffed as he stared at his mobile. “Cheeky bugger, what are you up to?”

He thumbed the ‘call’ option over returning the text. Whatever spectacular explanation Sherlock had for this line of inquiry was probably best discussed in real time.

“John.” Sherlock answered on the fifth ring and he sounded out of breath.

“Where the hell are you?”

“So good of you to call. Your concern can always be depended upon - it’s comforting…”

“Sherlock, it’s late - or early depending on your point of view. _Mine_ was asleep until you woke me.”

John waited for the expected comeback, but when all he heard was Sherlock’s breathing on the other end, he became concerned. “Where are you, and why do you sound… you sound _wet_ …”

“That’s the blood. And the Guinness.”

“Blood?”

“Mr. Farsid down at The Nag’s Head was apparently unaware that his wife had initiated an affair with the green grocer on Harewood Avenue even though it was obvious given the way she’s been ironing his shirts lately. He seemed more upset to discover that his wife was bisexual, but by that time he had already broken my nose. Naturally, I thought of you…”

“Naturally! You’re at liberty to provoke injuries with abandon so long as you have an in-house physician on call.” John barked. “Sherlock, _where_ are you now, and why would you tell Mr. Farsid anything in the first place?”

“I’m almost home.” Sherlock was slurring. “You’re always telling me that I need to develop some interpersonal skills, so I decided to test a few social theories of mine down at the pub. I fail to understand why people are so uncomfortable around truthful conversations…”

John descended the stairs to the front foyer two at a time in order to meet his incoming patient. “You don’t converse, Sherlock, you declare. Talking with you is always one-sided, but you usually have enough survival instinct to avoid a beating…”

John opened the front door to find Sherlock leaning heavily against the doorframe. He was sporting a bloody nose, split lip, and an impressive laceration above one eyebrow was bleeding and purpling up nicely. Sherlock thumbed his phone off and broke into a large smile as he stumbled inwards and fell against John.

“John.” He husked. “Hmmm, the blue cotton pants and the army tee after all…”

John tried to wrangle Sherlock’s weight as he toed the front door closed and was enveloped in a fog of beer and blood for his trouble.

“Well, that explains a lot… you smell like a brewery. How much did you have?”

“This sort of thing wouldn’t happen if there was any nicotine to be had around here. You know how fragile my tolerances are…”

Sherlock pushed them both into the hallway wall and then his mouth was on John’s. John pushed back and tried to speak but only tasted Sherlock’s blood instead. 

“Sherlock! Knock it off! You’re drunk…”

“Very astute. I’m also aroused. That almost never happens to me.” He pressed the length of his body against John to prove his point. “I’ve never been with a man before. It should be interesting to see how the sensations differ…”

“Sher-”

John was silenced once again as Sherlock dipped in and drew John’s protest from him. From the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock’s arms cage him as they braced against the wall on either side. Again he shifted and pushed to get free but the taller man seemed unaffected by the attempt, one hand shifting to press down against John’s collarbone as he sucked in the other man’s lip.

“Strange.” Sherlock whispered into John’s mouth. “Hints of bergamot, lemon peel… and… something sweeter. Thornton’s toffee? My God, if you only smoked, John, you’d taste of a perfect Sunday morning.”

“You’re completely arsed if you think-” John’s speaking rights were once again vetoed.

Sherlock had him pinned and was benefiting from his height advantage and the force of his inebriation. John gasped and Sherlock was in his mouth breathing an unexpected moan of pleasure that surprised John more than the kiss itself. He felt fingers brush past his ear and tangle in his hair as another hand gripped his waist and drew his body against Sherlock’s. John was still pushing away but with less energy; he found the arousal pressing into his thigh to be strangely flattering despite its inappropriateness. Perhaps his recent dating attempts had been a bit… dry, and Sherlock’s technique was proving to be well above average. However limited the man’s experiences might have been, he seemed to have paid close attention to the few that he’d had. 

John was losing the battle. It had been a while since someone had come at him with such passion. The body is hardwired to react in kind, and his objections were intellectual rather than physical. John had had an instant anticipation towards Sherlock the first day they met. But that was before he knew him. 

John moved and Sherlock moved with him, changing the angle of their kiss pressing deeper and this time eliciting a moan from John. When Sherlock canted his hips and John felt the man’s erection brush against his newly formed one, he pushed roughly away and climbed a few stairs to give him a height advantage.

“Sherlock, enough! We need to get your wounds cleaned, and then you need to sober the bloody hell up.”

“John,” Sherlock looked upset, which John found disturbing on its own. “I didn’t come home to get patched up, I came home to get shagged.”

“What? Wh-what makes you think I would-”

“You’re bisexual.” Sherlock turned abruptly and had to catch the banister when gravity threatened to overpower him. “Evidently you missed the connection that I made between you and Mrs. Farsid…”

Sherlock’s hand waved in the air and it suddenly caught his interest as if he’d never seen it before. “Besides, you’ve made little effort to hide your attraction to me since you moved in.”

“Codswallop.”

“Not really. Unless you mean that etymologically.”

John turned and climbed the stairs. His face would betray him if he looked back, and he didn’t trust Sherlock to be drunk enough to miss whatever he saw there. He heard the scuffed and uneven tread of his friend behind him and had the irrational feeling that he was being chased - that he needed to escape.

“John.”

He sped up and made it into the darkened sitting room. His mind was scuttling, desperate to find some sort of distraction. Why did he suddenly feel hunted? In spite of his haste, when he turned back he found Sherlock right behind him, all bloody and unsteady. He yelped involuntarily.

“John, why are you running?”

“I’m not bisexual.” He groused and walked into the kitchen to fetch a towel and some soap.

“Your shoes say differently. Not to mention the emails from Private Galloway.”

“You hacked my email?” John’s head popped around the corner accusingly. “Of course you have. What was I thinking? Why should _anything_ about my life be sacred?”

He stormed into the sitting room with a bowl of water, antibacterial soap and a tea towel, and pointed to Sherlock’s chair. “Sit.”

Sherlock obeyed and watched silently as John cleaned the blood from his face. John was rougher than he ought to have been but his friend remained still. As the water turned rusty red, John’s anger cooled and by the time he had applied bandage tape to Sherlock’s eyebrow, he was feeling guilty about his outburst.

“If it’s just me that you object to, you could just say so.” Sherlock said quietly. “Its hard to believe that I could have misread that, but I have had a bit to drink…”

John sat back on his heels in shock. Was Sherlock feeling sorry for himself? If he were, it would be a first for him. John shook his head and cleaned up his first aid mess.

“I could forgive a lot of your arrogance if you gave even the slightest consideration to my personal boundaries, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked down at his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry, John.”

Wow. Self-reflection? He was cycling through the emotional drunk levels at an alarming rate. What was next - ‘I love you, man’?

“I care about you, John.”

 _There_ you go.

“It might mean a little bit more if you weren’t pissed as a newt when you said it, Sherlock.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I have to protect myself. Until recently, I didn’t have anyone else to do that for me.” Sherlock rested his hand on John’s shoulder. “Just because I can’t say it, John, doesn’t mean that I can’t feel it.”

“What happened to ‘I don’t have time for that - the work is too important’?”

“I didn’t and it was. But something changed.”

Even drunk, Sherlock was a skillful predator. John recognized a trap when he saw it. His flight instincts had been correct, but Sherlock had switched tactics and suddenly altered the rules of engagement. Now the hunted would come to the hunter and be glad of it. John smiled; he hoped that he could cling to this sliver of self-awareness otherwise he’d probably be eaten alive.

“Things will certainly change after this.” John slid his hands up along the tops of Sherlock’s thighs.

“I suppose that depends on the outcome of the event.” Sherlock murmured and stared at John as if he had just transformed into a pretty, poisonous snake. He smiled back, as if relishing the challenge.

“Don’t dare me, Sherlock. I’m the one with experience here.”

John pressed down on Sherlock’s thighs forcing them apart as he stretched up to kiss him back for the first time. Sherlock remained still and let John come to him, his eyes calculating as their lips met and parted. John reached down between them letting his hand run across creases and seams. Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed something into John’s mouth. The chair arms creaked under the pressure from his grip. His long legs opened wider as he shuffled against John; Sherlock’s mouth mirrored his body’s eagerness, tempting John closer.

“John,” Sherlock whispered between breaths. “Would you consider taking up smoking? I’d never have to buy another nicotine patch again…”

John’s hand slid beneath Sherlock, cupping and roughly probing against the man’s tailored pants. Sherlock gasped and his body went rigid. John smiled and took a moment to bite the other man’s neck for good measure. Sherlock had no clue what he was getting into…

“Certainly not, you twitchy, vice-ridden pillock.”

John stood but not before giving Sherlock’s cock a wicked stroke through his pants. Sherlock hissed and gave John a filthy look. John smiled his best, most professional ‘compassionate-doctor’ smile. “It’s filthy habit, and one that now only exists in the associated behaviour section of your frontal lobe.”

Sherlock stared at John in stunned silence, his hard on now as obvious as his white-knuckled grip on the chair.

“You don’t need it and I won’t indulge your fantasies to the contrary - I’m not Mycroft. Or Lestrade, for that matter.”

John turned and nonchalantly headed back to his bedroom, leaving Sherlock pale and open-mouthed behind him. He smiled to himself as he stood out of sight in the darkened hallway and waited. A few moments passed before he strolled back to the entry to the sitting room. Teasing was fun, but baiting could prove dangerous.

“If you want an associated behaviour experience that’ll nix that nicotine habit for good, I’ll be back here. Otherwise, there’s a packet of Silk Cut behind one of the hearth bricks. Five to the left and three up.”

John turned and headed for his room. A confused array of thumps sounded from the living room and for a long moment, John doubted the outcome of his gambit. It would be depressing to place second to a paper tube of processed tobacco and carcinogenic chemicals, but Sherlock was the most high-functioning needs-driven individual that John had ever known. It was a distinct possibility. 

When he felt the solid weight behind him and heard the uneven breathing, he smiled to himself. Good.

“Strip. If the smell of blood turned me on, I’d never have left Afghanistan.”

\-------

The blasted mobile made a hellacious sound as it vibrated across the nightstand. The growl of something ferocious and not fully awake rumbled from beneath the tangle of bed sheets and a long arm reached out unerringly for the device.

_U up yet?_

Head throbbing. Spikes of pain emanating from his mouth, nose and left eye. A general sensation of full body bruising seasoned with the intermittent discovery of a bite or a series of superficial lacerations. And the intimate familiarity of the bedclothes indicated that he was naked. The clock next to the bed said 11:34 a.m. His fingers moved over the keypad while he pondered the evidence at hand.

_After a fashion. Where r u?  
\- SH_

_Bakery. Want coffee?_

_Desperately.  
\- SH _

_What will u give me 4 it?_

_For coffee? I need to coerce u?  
\- SH_

_Just a little - until the new vice takes._

_What do u want? I’m not good for much at the moment  
\- SH_

_U r good for plenty. Up for it?_

Sherlock smiled and then covered his mouth as he felt his lip split and his nerves told him to restrict his delight to interior reflections alone. This game had not only seemed diverting last night, but retained its allure in daylight as well. John was skilled and appeared to be a worthy adversary in this even if his chess skills indicated a less than cunning intellect in the past. Sherlock wished that he had thought of this sooner.

_U r a horrible human being & a sordid example of the terrifying indifference of the medical establishment in this county at the moment  
\- SH_

_So, black with 2 sugars then?_

_Yes please  
\- SH_

Sherlock rolled over and wondered how long they could keep this interesting. His past experiences told him that he should already be bored and in need of a new distraction. He thought of the brickwork of the hearth… five from the left and three bricks up… but he sighed and the thought dissipated. He had no desire to smoke at all. He lay still and marveled at how his whole body hardened while he waited for coffee.


End file.
